Exile's Word
by Visible Monsters
Summary: An exile's word is best taken lightly. Companion to my story "Scoundrel's Honor."
1. An Exile's Word

The more I think about it, the more I realize it's true.

You've been an exile too.

I can tell by your stance.

The way you walk, move, the way you stand tall and straight but keep your broad shoulders tensed, like you're just waiting for the world to try to rip what's yours from your grasp.

Your pale jade eyes regard the universe behind a cool wall of lies and false emotions.

Eyes I'd be a complete fool to trust.

I've known a thousand of your type.

I've _been_ your type.

A sad, amateur copy of your type, but still.

But as much as you and Kreia would like me to believe otherwise, I know that's not all there is to you.

I'd put my word as an exile on it.

So when one of Atris's handmaidens tells me you know Echani fighting forms, I'm not surprised.

I've picked up my share of spare skills during my exile, too.

I have a few that would even interest someone like you, Atton.

Someone like who you pretend to be, at any rate.

When I enter the cockpit, you have pazaak cards scattered all over the console and you turn in surprise as soon as you hear my footsteps. You turn back around before I can say anything.

"I said I'm fine," you state, before I can even get a word out. "Unless we're finishing the interrogation now? Because I think I might have some childhood memories from Alderaan you could try to pry out of me," you aggressively add. I wait for you to turn and look at me, but you don't move.

"You're from Alderaan?" I ask carefully, after a few seconds' pause.

"Nice try," you retort, scoffing, but at the very least, you finally stand up to face me. You study my face and I keep it impassive. I bite on my lip before speaking again.

"I guess I just thought your Echani training would have-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say shortly, and I witness your icy walls getting thicker by the second. Your eyes narrow at me. "I don't know where you even got that ridiculous-"

"One of Atris's handmaidens mentioned you dropped into Echani stance when we were captured," I inwardly wince at my poor attempt to sound casual.

"Oh. That," you say, your tone calming slightly. I notice your shoulders relax just slightly and you opt to lean against your pilot's chair. "If you pretend to know that stuff... well, you can't imagine how many situations that's gotten me out of. I mean, it doesn't compare to wearing a _lightsaber,_ but look at how much that's helped you," you sneer, thoughtlessly waving the question away.

"You don't have to get defensive about it. I was just asking because she seemed so sure," I scowl, annoyed. I can't help but cross my arms in preemptive defense.

"Yeah? Well, I don't ask any dumb questions about **your** past, angel. If you want to tell me something, I figure you will. So you could at least show me that same respect." That tense, uncomfortable hunch of your shoulders returns as you stand up straight, crossing your own arms right back at me.

"Force! I'm not accusing you of murder, Atton!" I retort before I can help myself. "I just thought...if you did have some kind of special training- that could be an asset," I try carefully. "You, I mean."

You don't say anything. Your eyes search mine, your mouth pressed in a hard straight line. I look away first, biting my lip.

"You...you can leave when we get there, if you want," I tell the ground. "I wouldn't blame you. Dantooine's mostly farmers, but I'm sure you could book off-world passage easily."

"What?" you ask. I meet your eyes again, pale viridian irises that seem confused by my words. "No, that's not what I...I was just complaining. Besides, someone's gotta fly the ship. I'm here until things start going better for you," you state evenly. I can sense something behind your words, but I'm not sure what. "Or, you know, until they go worse..."

"Really?" I ask, hiding my unexpected relief. "I was sure you'd want to get far away from us as soon as possible. Why would you want to stay?"

You study me silently, your arms falling back at your sides.

I don't know how long it is before you speak again.

"You want to know something about me?" you ask finally, a wry smile curving your lips. "I'm good at lying, shooting, cards, drinking, cracking wise, and running. That's something you can be sure about, angel. I'll stay, I'll help you as long as I can, but don't count on me for anything else. The faster you learn that, the better it is for all of us. There's nothing more to me than that."

"I think you're lying right now," I counter, meeting and matching your cool green gaze defiantly. You smile crookedly.

"See? You already know me," you reply, turning to settle back into your chair, signaling the end of the conversation.

Well, guess what?

I know something else about you, Atton.

I don't know if you can feel it, considering the fact that I'm still unsure of my raw, newly re-established connections to the Force. Although, if you can feel it in the slightest, I doubt you'd admit it:

We're bonded through the Force.

It might be because we saved each other's lives, or it may just be my natural aptitude for bonding that made my Masters eye me warily during lessons.

And Force, has it really been over ten years since then?

Maybe I'll tell you about it someday.

If I ever choose to tell anyone what I've done, better you than anyone else.

After all, despite the fact that I know next to nothing about you, I do know you're just like me.

I will promise you one thing, Atton. I won't get attached.

Even a sorry excuse for an ex-Jedi exile like me knows how those kinds of things turn out.

Go ahead, keep your secrets- as long as I get to bury mine.

I won't even pry.

You can have my word as a fellow exile on it.


	2. Touch

I'm already halfway to the cockpit before I remember you're not there.

I can't sleep, not that it's an unusual occurrence for me. Even meditation hasn't been cutting it lately.

Mical is meditating in the cargo bay with Visas, and Kreia in her usual spot. Bao Dur snores in the garage, and I can hear T3 whirring and beeping every so often as he does his usual rounds around the ship as if he's our personal patrol droid.

I pull my robe tighter around myself as I pass through the main hold, the cold floor sending chills up my body by way of my bare feet.

I also know that you're passed out on the medbay cot, due to an unfortunate hit you've taken planetside.

I hesitate in the doorway when you give an abrupt groan and frown in your sleep, and decide to step in and raise my hand to touch the kolto bandages on your arm, noticing a dark red seeping through the white.

I feel your muscles tense at my touch but I pay it no mind.

After all, it's not the first time. Do you remember when our hands accidentally touched on Telos as we reached for the same blaster? The way your large hand lingered over my small one sent a few extra heartbeats coursing through my veins. It's stupid, but I remember. Then you pulled your hand away and began a conversation and called me "angel" as if nothing had happened. As if you hadn't let your hand linger just like I allowed mine to.

I figure I might as well change your bandages while I'm here.

My hand rests back on your arm as I glance around for new bandages.

Within a split-second, your eyes snap open and your hand wraps around my wrist like a vice, a foreign look in your eyes that startles me.

"Atton-" I gasp, trying to take a step back, but your hand is gripping my wrist hard enough to bruise, leaving me breathless at startled by the sheer force of it. _"Atton!"_ You blink, snapping out of it, and the harsh, cold look in your pale green eyes fades as you realize it's just me.

"Sorry. Frack, I'm sorry," you say, dropping my wrist. You rub a hand over your face and shake your head. "I thought you…" you begin, your eyes refocusing. I rub at my wrist a little, ignoring the dull throbbing. "Never mind. Nothing. I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"I didn't mean to startle you. I'm fine. I'll go." I start to leave, then feel a tug at my hand. I look down to see your long fingers grasping mine.

"Hey. Um...I wanted to say...the hag was wrong," you mutter, lying your head back on the pillow. Your eyes are closed again, and you let out a low hum of a sigh.

"What do you mean?" I ask, mind still half on our intertwined fingers. Your eyes open and lock with mine again.

"Yesterday," you reply simply, studying me. "I know what she said hit too close to home after you helped that man."

"Oh. But I thought you didn't want my good nature 'rubbing off on you,'" I reply, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I can think of a few things I wouldn't mind you rubbing on me," you retort, with that crooked half-smirk implying things I shouldn't be considering.

"You're delirious from the painkillers. Or that smack you took to the head," I state dryly, despite the light pink tinting my cheeks. I bite my lip. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. You let out a loud bark of a laugh, and my face gets progressively warmer. _Force._ I can't remember the last time I had a reason to blush.

"Maybe," you allow, still slightly smirking. You let go of my hand and rearrange yourself on the cot as best you can. "I could be serious, and you wouldn't even know."

"You know that's not what I mean. You always do that," I sigh, trying to look anywhere but your bare chest and broad shoulders. "You're just trying to change the subject."

You always say things like that, call me things like princess or sweetheart to drive me insane to the point where it hurts just to look at you.

"You took it pretty bad out there," I observe, when you don't say anything, my fingers feeling cold. "I could help heal you, you know. It wouldn't even hurt that much. It would only take a few-"

"Don't," you groan, holding out an arm to stop me. I purse my lips.

"At least let me change your bandage. You're bleeding through," I attempt to convince you.

"Anything for you, angel. Besides, I've had worse." I retrieve a clean bandage and carefully peel off the old one. You close your eyes and lean back, a low hiss of discomfort escaping your lips.

"Why don't you ever want to be healed with the Force?" I ask, genuinely curious. I discard the old bandage and peel the new one open. It smells strong, of concentrated kolto.

"Don't take it personally, beautiful. I'd choose you over blondie any day," you smirk as I wipe away the dried blood and disinfect the cut. I lightly run my fingers over it and feel your muscles twitch under my fingers. It's not deep enough to be lethal, but even I can tell it's going to leave a scar. "Ow!" you complain, shifting away from my touch again.

"Don't be such a baby," I huff, teasing. "Force, I can only imagine how much you'd complain if you actually let me heal you."

I catch your eyes and you're staring back, light viridian irises I'd be a fool to trust.

"Healing involves letting other people in," you say, never breaking eye contact as I smooth the new bandage over your bicep. "And that's not a good idea for either of us, angel, trust me."

"Trust you?" I scoff, trying to make light. "You're asking me to trust you as you tell me not trust you?" The corner of your mouth rises in a wry smirk at my picking apart your words.

"I didn't say you had to take me at my word," you retort. "Frack. You don't need to be so damn technical all the time," you gripe good-heartedly, smirking again. I have to smile back.

"Ari, I-"

"I should let you rest," I accidentally interrupt, just as you begin to speak.

"Sure, sweetheart," you say. Your tone sounds odd as you shift uncomfortably on the cot again. I turn to go. "Think of me in your bunk, alright?" you say to my back, and I can just picture that scoundrel's smirk plastered on your face as I head back to the dormitory, a pink heat flushing my face.


	3. Games

[A/N: huge thank yous to Jocasta Silver & SeriousSubwayFlirting for the reviews :)]

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

You once told me you could tell almost anything about a person by the way they play pazaak.

Not that I'm thick enough to believe most of what comes out of your mouth.

But as usual, I give you the benefit of the doubt.

"The way this is going, I wish I'd suggested playing Nar Shaddaa rules," you smugly declare, as I lose for the fourth time in a row.

The way you play pazaak, you'd think you were a stealth operative or assassin in another life, coming and taking it all for the win seemingly out of nowhere, the way your opponent never sees it coming.

Playing pazaak with you, talking to you- doing anything with you is rolling the dice, it's betting on a rusty speeder. I never know if the conversation is going to end with one of your scoundrel remarks or a shouting match.

"I have some...other rules we can play by," I slyly hint. You raise an eyebrow, suddenly interested. "If I win, you have to answer a question of mine, you win, I answer one of yours."

Your mouth shifts for a second as you decide if this is a test.

"Alright, we'll try it your way," you agree reluctantly. "But I still think Nar Shaddaa rules would make this more fun..." You only settle back into your comfort zone when you win the next game.

"What was it like, growing up on Dantooine?" you ask, glancing at me over your remaining cards.

"It was...well, it was all I knew," I admit, not bothering to inform you that I spent some of those years on Coruscant as well. "I had friends, but the rest of the padawans distrusted me. Most of the Masters were suspicious of me as well," I add, shortly.

In truth, the padawans who didn't befriend me _hated_ me.

I remember Vrook's mistrust of me was only outshone by his own padawan's blatant dislike.

When I left for the war, my friends followed, and no one that stayed missed me. Maybe Kavar, but maybe not. I wasn't his padawan, not truly. I wasn't his anything.

But withholding information like that isn't exactly lying, is it? I know you'd agree.

"Suspicious? Who could ever be suspicious of you, angel?" you raise a knowing eyebrow. I give you a twisted smile. I shrug, starting to feel uncomfortable with the subject.

"People are afraid of what they don't understand." I don't bother to add that I don't even understand it myself most days. I always unexplicably drew people toward me, but not in the way you'd think. Even at a young age, when I was in trouble with some master or another, I always had someone willing to help take the fall.

But the ones most drawn to me were those on the outskirts, the ones nobody ever thinks to look twice at. And the rest despised me for it.

I don't know how to describe it, but I'm sure you'd know what I mean, if I bothered to try to explain it to you. This was before the war turned me into the General, of course, before I'd observed and absorbed some of Revan and Malak's leadership methods.

But I don't elaborate on the topic and you let it go. Instead, you deal the next round, and although I have a chance to beat you, I let you take the game easily.

"What was Revan like?" you ask next, studying me. I know that look you're giving me. You're trying to decide if I'm lying or not. I'm actually trying to keep the lies and half-truths to a minimum today, because I don't want to hear any from you.

"Revan was..." I begin, looking up from my cards into the stars outside the cockpit window, as if they'll help me remember. "Revan was a leader. He could look into your eyes and say a few words to make you believe he was right. Revan could command the the attention of an entire room just by walking in."

And I could barely step out of the shadows long enough for someone to notice.

You say nothing but deal another round.

"You know what your tell is, gorgeous?" you smirk a few games later, and I let the pet name slide for now. You don't wait for me to answer. "You always bite your lip when you're unsure about something."

I pause to realize I'm doing just that. I stop. I never had a tell before. Before you, I mean.

I'm unsure whether I should try to take the game from you.

"You know what yours is?" I retort, causing your eyebrows to raise.

"Me? I don't have a tell, sweetheart. I don't even lie," you add, and I resist the urge to scoff at that obvious fib.

"Everyone has one," I argue. "Like when you call me anything other than my name to distract me or start inane conversations to avoid saying anything meaningful."

"I didn't realize this game was turning into an analysis of my character," you say indifferently, but I sense the tension behind your words.

"I met someone in the refugee sector who says he knows you," I blurt out, as you deal me another card.

""Yeah?" you ask, flippantly casual, but I catch the way you pause as you put down a +2 card. "That's a surprise. Did he say I owe him credits, too?" your tone hardens by the second sentence. I hesitate before putting down my winning card.

You look at me, and I see your pale eyes are guarded, waiting for my question.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" I ask carefully, frowning slightly at your overtly aggressive response.

"No. If I wanted to tell you anything, don't you think I would have come and told you?" you point out, quickly losing patience. "Anything else?"

"I was just asking a question, I didn't mean to-"

"Is this an interrogation?" you interrupt, scowling. "You're terrible at it, you know. Especially for an ex-Jedi… or whatever you call yourself. You think because you win one stupid card game I'll just tell you everything and cry on your shoulder?"

"I'm not trying to-" I start, even though I know it's no use. I've overstepped myself; I always do. Like I always promise myself I won't. Your eyes narrow at me.

"Why don't you just try to crawl in my head and try to dig out whatever you're looking for rather than asking about it? Just like the hag taught you," you mutter.

"You know I'd never do that." _Not again, anyway. _I'm glaring and you're glaring back and I know this is going nowhere. It stings that you even insinuate it at all. I bite my lip. "Besides, if you have anything to ask me, I'd answer."

"Alright, you still want to play this game?" you retort, shaking your head at me. "Fine. How about this one: how did you even live with yourself after Malachor? Why did you even go back to the Jedi Council? Were you hoping they'd kill you after what you did?"

"Atton, I... it wasn't like that," I chew on my lower lip, immediately regretting opening this door to our pasts.

"Wasn't it? Did you think they'd forgive you, or just execute you? But Jedi don't kill their prisoners, do they? Maybe that's what you were counting on when you went back in chains. You're just a dirty little Jedi secret. And you're not the only one, so don't feel so special, sweetheart."

"I'm not a Jedi anymore," I state through gritted teeth, a flash of hot anger washing over me.

You only laugh, a single, harsh scoff that makes me clench my fists.

"Just _listen_ to yourself, angel. You defend them. You're spouting their logic. You're still one of them; you just don't realize it yet." Again with the nicknames. You know they make me lose patience. Then you deal a low blow with a dripping bitter tone: "And do you know what else, gorgeous? All those Jedi at Malachor, you know, the ones you sent to their graves? They deserved it."

My normally stoic face turns into an expression of disbelief and it feels as if you've hit me in the stomach. This new expression seems to give you some kind of weird satisfaction. A smug look creeps onto your face and you cross your arms, getting up from your pilot's chair.

"They did not deserve it. Who are you to even say such an awful thing?" my voice shakes as I stand as well, and I can tell you're not sure if it's from suppressed anger or something else. I'm not even entirely sure myself. "Why do you do this? Why...are you trying to push me away?"

You lean closer, your voice dangerously low.

"Because Jedi lie. And they manipulate. Everything they say is better for the galaxy is just better for themselves. And every kindness they claim, every dirty secret, you can see the hypocrisy if you look long enough. And the galaxy doesn't need it anymore. We never needed it. Or you."

"You don't believe that," I state, so that I can convince myself I'm telling the truth.

"Don't I?"

"Do you honestly think I'm trying to manipulate you?" I demand.

"I don't know what you and the hag get up to in there."

"What, you think we're plotting behind your back?" I laugh incredulously, hands on my hips. You study me, a harsh look where your eyebrows furrow and your lips purse into a thin line, that easygoing smirk gone as if it never existed.

"Just leave me alone, Ari," you mutter, turning away. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time with you, anyway."

"No. You always do this. And if I'm a waste of time, why are you still here?" I retort, daring to grasp your arm to make you look at me. I wonder if you've wondered the answer to this as many times as I have. Too many. "If you're going to continue wasting time with me, I want to know where you've been."

Your gaze softens, if only slightly, and I let go of your arm.

"Well…don't get too attached to me – I don't like it." You run a hand through your hair uncomfortably. You glance down at me reluctantly. Your hair falls back into your eyes.

"And what if I do?" I say, before I can help myself. You shrug.

"Your funeral. I'm a deserter, angel. It's what I do."

"I don't understand." You avert your eyes away from me. "Atton, please…I just want to know who you are – who you've been."

"I haven't known who I am for years." You shake your head. "Just...leave, Ari. I can't tell you what you want to hear right now."

I leave without another word.

Go ahead, Atton.

Play your stupid games. Card games, mind games- it makes no difference to me.

Hide behind the numbers in your head like you always do.

I'll be here when you get tired of pretending.

I'll be here when you realize you're as sick of lying to yourself as I am.


	4. Meetra

[A/N: This chapter is the other half of chapter 6 of "Scoundrel's Honor." Also: thank you, SeriousSubwayFlirting!]

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I feel a second presence that snaps me out of my meditation state. I blink a few times, frowning in confusion.

Master Kavar sits a few feet across from me in the center of the elaborate chamber, mirroring my meditative pose.

Kavar, the only master that was repeatedly willing to take me in for a time after every other one would leave or simply drop me. One of the very few masters who never eyed me suspiciously in the corridors because of my_...gift._

"Meetra," he says as his eyes flicker open to study me. He smiles fondly, and I feel my lips curve of their own accord.

He stands fluidly, and I do the same.

"You've returned."

"Yes. Of course I have," I reply. "I've ended the war," the words leave my lips automatically, without the courtesy of asking my brain's permission first.

"So I've heard," he grins, and my heart lifts at his proud tone. "The Masters have sent me to tell you: we were wrong to question your decision."

"You...what?"

"The Council. We'd like to have you back. _I'd_ like to have you back."

"I don't understand," I frown blankly.

"Don't you remember?" he asks, taking a step forward. "Once, we were close. More than that." I think back as his fingers tuck a damp strand of dark hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at my cheek, trailing promises of an intimacy that I can't remember.

The ghostly feel of his hand on my face clicks something in my mind, and I realize everything here is wrong.

"No," I say, swatting his hand away and backing up. He takes a step forward, reaching for my arm. I slip away, eluding his grasp. "You're wrong. You're not him. This never- this isn't how it happened." I brush my hand over the handle of my lightsaber, waiting for the right moment.

"I've only come to welcome you home, Meetra," this copy of Kavar claims, following my movements with piercing eyes. _Ari,_ I have to remind myself._ My name is Ari now_. "Did I mean so little to you?"

"The opposite, actually," I admit to myself. He meant more than I could ever bring myself to admit. "But he judged me like the rest," I remember, as if through a thick haze. I study his face as his demeanor changes within a few seconds. It's then that I realize it's not a perfect copy; his eyes are just barely the wrong shade of blue and his hair-

The doppelganger's lightsaber ignites without warning, and mine is instinctively in my hand a half second later.

"Let's get this over with," I say, mind clear and ready to face another one of my demons in this damned tomb.

"You were always too quick to act," he says, as our 'sabers twirl and clash against each other. I spin out of the way before his stabs me in the gut. "Mediocre with the Force, relying on your bonds with the others to reinforce your own-"

I bring my saber crashing into his head with a shout and he disappears. I wipe the sweat from my face, panting and trying to force the anger from my mind. I shiver, despite the sweat covering my body.

This place is dark.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Atton?" I ask, disbelieving, seeing you standing a few yards away with your back to me. Despite myself, I feel my heart rate speed up just a little. "I told you to wait outside."

"I thought you could use some help," you shrug indifferently. You don't turn around just yet.

"Where is Mical?" I ask, taking a few steps closer. I feel something is off, and not just the fact that I haven't let you close to me since that night on Nar Shaddaa. Abruptly, you turn and close the gap between us.

Your hand wraps around my wrist, forcing me against the wall, your lips taking my mouth hostage, a forceful kiss that almost scares me as my heart jumps into my throat.

"Meetra..." you growl harshly into my mouth.

Your other hand grasps my chin, strong enough to leave a bruise.

It's nothing like what I felt with you in the cantina just a few weeks ago.

With my free hand, I ignite my lightsaber and it pierces through your abdomen.

You disappear in a wisp of smoke, leaving me by myself, breathing heavily. The taste of fresh blood is on my tongue and when I raise a hand to my lip, it comes back spotted with a few droplets of red.

It wasn't you.

Its eyes were more yellow than green, and lacking that wary, shielding gaze. Its was skin more sallow than pale.

I shiver, remembering the cold darkness in his eyes.

It seems I've met Jaq.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"This is all your fault!" I scream at the robed figure in front of me as I slash wildly with my 'saber.

He parries my every stroke easily but doesn't give me the satisfaction of replying to my accusations.

"If- you'd- only- just- fracking- stayed-" I choke out between my attempts at striking him. His mask remains emotionless and it irks me that I can't even remember what he looked like before the wars. He could have been a woman and none of his followers would have ever realized.

I only get near enough to stab him once, and let out a cry of despair when he vanishes into the chilly air. I drop my lightsabers and all but collapse to the ground with a hand to my mouth, bile threatening to rise in my throat. I hear my 'sabers clatter against the stone as they roll away from me.

I bite on my knuckles and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the urge to both vomit and sob.

"So you're what survived the loss of the Force?" A voice interrupts my breakdown. "I'm hardly impressed."

I open my eyes and look up into a vaguely familiar face peering down at me.

Her eyes are metallic and her dark hair more elaborately plaited than I remember it being.

"You're not real," I swallow nauseously, challenging her. She only laughs, a calculating chuckle that makes the room grow even colder.

"Get up," she growls, grabbing a handful of my hair until I'm eye level with her. "Weak." She releases me, looking disgusted. "To think, you used to be the General."

Meetra was the General. Meetra had a double-bladed lightsaber, silver like the waters in the Room of a Thousand Fountains on Coruscant.

"I'm Ari."

I have a viridian lightsaber [that reminds me of your eyes] and a violet one for my off-hand.

"Tell me, _Ari._ What are you going to do when this is over? Change your name again? Where will you run to this time? You have no one."

"I have-" I attempt to argue, but have to stop myself. Your name comes to mind, but I quickly remind myself that you were never a guarantee, never a permanent fixture or any sort of stability.

"No one. Or did you think anyone could actually care about someone like you? Meetra Surik, Force-crippled ex-Jedi," she laughs cruelly. "Do you truly believe they follow you out of love?" she mocks, circling me. "And the pilot? A nice, quick frack, that's all you'll ever be to him, you pathetic little fool."

"I'm Ari," I correct her.

"Then prove it," she snipes, drawing her 'saber. She steps away to kick mine towards my feet and I pick them up.

Her double-bladed 'saber ignites in a blinding flash of silver as she twirls it menacingly.

I ignite mine in turn but hesitate to go at her.

How can I destroy the only part of me that makes any sense?

"You can't do it, can you?" Meetra smugly taunts. "Let me make it easy for you." She approaches and I point my viridian lightsaber at her throat.

She walks up as close as she can without it piercing her neck. I don't move.

"Do it. Kill me, exile," Meetra commands. I don't move. Her face twists into a horrible, leering grin. "Kill me and this ends. _Kill me_. **Kill. Me**," she hisses, repeating the phrase until I can no longer hear myself think.

_Kill me._

I blackout.


End file.
